A Dark Descent
by Deslock
Summary: <html><head></head>The sound grew closer. It became harder to negotiate a way down the path, but Scout tried. He called out the names of his colleagues as the tunnel grew narrower. He just wanted to see his team alive and well again. His hands were slippery but he kept them on the walls. Rounding a corner, he almost tripped over something. He squinted at it in the darkness. Then he screamed.</html>


A Dark Descent

The train brought Scout to The Well base while the sun was still high on Monday evening. From there, a car arranged by the Administrator collected him and took him the twenty-odd miles northeast to the Gravel Pit base, where his team were currently stationed. The car deposited him without even the faintest of acknowledgments from the driver. Scout had spoken the entire trip but now that he thought about it, the driver hadn't said much. Or anything. The day was bright but chilly as he made his way to the control point A area, a place he and his team were familiar with having defended it from BLU on countless occasions. It had been some time since they had last been stationed in Gravel Pit, though. None of the other men seemed to like it. Said it had a 'bad feeling about it'. Scout had never really noticed. He was just glad to be back.

He had been granted a brief, compassionate leave after receiving word that one of his brothers had died in a car accident two weeks ago. Joey was only a year older than Scout, but out of all the brothers they had gotten on the least. Call it competition, some might say. The truth was Scout had missed his teammates, who had been more like brothers to him in the few years that he'd known then than any of his own biological siblings back in Boston. He resented being seen as the 'baby' with his real family because that entailed bullying. A cruel, brotherly hierarchy. Here with his team mates, though teasing was rife, he knew his much older comrades were protective of him. Even when they didn't have to be. Scout had only requested the leave in the first place for his mothers sake, as she was utterly beside herself with grief. The funeral had been typical. Right up to the inevitable fight that broke out between his six surviving brothers. Scout had joined in, but felt ashamed when he saw what it did to his mother and his grandmother. He couldn't get on the train back fast enough.

Once inside the base, he was immediately seized by the silence. Firstly, nobody had come to greet him, which was unusual. He was, dare he be so bold, the life of this place. But nothing, no dull, far off banging could be heard from the Engineers work shop. No shouting or fighting from Soldier and Demoman. No manic laughter from the infirmary. There wasn't even the mandatory, lingering smell of smoke which meant Pyro hadn't set any fires recently. The bright lights above him were flickering on and off, shifting the room from blinding light to blinding darkness every few seconds. It made the silence eerie.

"Fellas?" called Scout, but there was no reply. A power shortage, he assumed. It certainly wouldn't be the first. In the mess hall, an old sandwich lay on a plate, growing mould. A glass of curdled milk sat beside it. Dust coated the surrounding surfaces and bird droppings splattered the floor, which was especially strange as Medic never allowed his doves out of the infirmary least Soldier kill them. Scout swallowed. He'd seen enough to know that something was wrong. "Hey, guys?" Then, he noticed in the corner of the room was Demoman's scrumpy bottle. It lay on a clean table, but it wasn't empty. Next to it was the Engineer's goggles, the Spy's cigarette case and the Soldier's shovel. The lights above him continued to flicker. On and off.

On another table was an ashtray with a smouldering cigarette, not one of the fancy, spicy ones that Spy smoked. It was one of the fat, smelly roll ups that Sniper smoked, which meant the Australian at least had to have been here recently. As Scout stalked the halls, checking rooms, he noticed the door to the Engineers workshop was open. Scout had never been allowed in there before, and the room had always been locked and booby-trapped with a painful - but otherwise harmless - shock device to deter him from ever trying. Him and any other snoopers, namely Spy.

"Engie?" Scout stepped inside, cringing as the heavy door creaked at his touch. He felt like a naughty boy creeping into his fathers private study. He saw on the workbench was a set of dusty plans, the writing so faded that he could barely read it. It was written in another language, but not Medic's native German or Spy's native French, it was something completely alien looking. A language long dead, or recently invented. Upon closer inspection, Scout squinted at the page, trying to decipher anything remotely familiar scrawled in that dark, reddish-brown ink. He crinkled his nose distastefully when he got a fowl waft from the page, musky – coppery even. That's when he realised the ink was dried blood.

"Aw, jeez." Scout backed away, his lip curling. He coughed, dropped his bag by the workbench and crossed the room to the radio that was used to communicate with the Administrator in times of emergency. Good a time as any, he thought. He'd never used the radio before, but there was only a few buttons to experiment with. He pressed the red one. "Hello?" scratchy static blasted through the microphone. Then nothing. Scout tapped and blew on it, cleared his throat. "Uh, hey? Anyone there? This is the Scout, can anyone hear me?" There was no reply. He continued to press the few remaining buttons when, from behind him and down the hallway, he heard a noise. It sounded like scratching.

"Engie?" Scout was surprised to find his voice caught in his throat, croaking out as a chill ran through him. He cleared his throat emphatically and peered around the door frame to call out again, louder this time "Hardhat, that you?"

The scratching stopped. The lights above him continued to flicker. On and off. After a moment of hesitation Scout made his way towards the infirmary, where the sound seemed to be coming from. In the silence, his light footsteps sounded unbearably loud. Only then did he realise he'd broken out in a sweat. It had gotten suddenly hotter in the base. He pushed open the infirmary doors and stepped inside. The large, industrial windows that sat near the ceiling allowed natural light to spill in, making the flickering darkness flee from the room.

Then he saw it. There, in the centre of the room, was a cavernous hole. At least it initially looked vast, but on inspection it was merely narrow. Very narrow. An odour breathed out from it and dust danced around the mouth like flies. Scout peered down into the wound and made a face, but before he could call into it, the scratching resumed. This time with great urgency. He cocked his head to the side, realising that the scratching was actually digging – as if someone was tunnelling down. He vaguely recalled the Engineer talking about some kind of material being beneath the Gravel Pit a while ago. Maybe Engie had the team down there helping to mine it out? Scout crouched by the hole and then slowly ducked into it.

The perfume of putrification assaulted him immediately and the stench almost knocked him off his feet. He took a breath, lowered himself down. Although narrow, the tunnel descended at a slant, and so Scout half-slid, half-crouched his was down deeper and deeper. His feet finally hit even ground but by then the temperature had increased so much that sweat was dripping into his eyes and forcing his shirt to cling to him. He removed his hat to run a hand through his hair, but the ceiling was so low he scrapped his elbow. He cursed, continued along. He was enveloped in almost complete darkness.

The sound grew closer. It became harder to negotiate a way down the path, but Scout tried. He called out the names of his colleagues as the tunnel grew narrower. He just wanted to see his team alive and well again. His hands were slippery but he kept them on the walls. Rounding a corner, he almost tripped over something. He squinted at it in the darkness. Then he screamed.

The Engineer lay at his feet, his face hideously contorted and his skin a sickly grey colour. His eyes were wide and black, his mouth slack as his swollen, blotchy tongue protruded through his teeth. What was most horrible of the damage was the deep, ragged slashes that tore through his flesh in long swipes. Ripping through his skin like the claws of an animal. Scout cursed and pleaded under his breath and made to touch his friend, but stopped when the sound of nails dragging down stone stilled him. He looked down the tunnel and saw a small hole, perhaps big enough for a man's head to poke through. From behind it, the scratching – the digging – continued. Realisation dawned on Scout as he looked from the Engineers blackened form to the hole in the stone.

Engie had not been digging down. Something else had been digging up.

Scout stood stock-still for a long moment, remaining as silent as he possibly could. Something moved behind that black void, gentle, staggering almost, as if wounded. Scout immediately envisioned one of his team trying to burrow away from whoever, or whatever had killed Engie. He approached the small opening. His eyes watered. He whispered, so softly "… Medc?"

There was a hiss even softer than his own voice from within that great darkness and all was silent, until a massive presence struck the wall with such brute force that several stone fell loose. Scout yelped and scampered back, tripping over Engies corpse and falling hard on his back. The hiss became a blood curdling scream as the thing beyond the wall threw itself against it again, causing dust to rain down onto Scout as he struggled to regain his crouching position.

Then, a long, slender, black hand slid out of the gap. It was inhumanly long and twisted as if devoid of bone. Dripping as if coated in oil. Huge nails protruded from its six fingers, each one encrusted with dirt and blood. The black flesh hung from the wrist and arm in tatters, sludgy blood boiling beneath it. Bubbling and popping. The hand reached out to Scout, the fingers stretching, and it hissed again. In that moment, he could feel its rage – its utter hatred. The arm withdrew and, just barely visible in the shadow, Scout saw a pair of eyes staring straight out at him. They were milky white, with no pupils, no eyelids. They narrowed maliciously before disappearing once more and the thing hurled itself at the wall again, causing the stone around the hole to crack, beginning to give way.

Scout turned, taking to all fours like a dog and beginning to desperately retreat from the thing from the void. His tripped over himself, tore his fingernails out on the hard, uneven ground and skinned his knees in his frantic effort to flee. The thing howled behind him, screamed at him, as it manically bashed itself against its stone confinement to get to him. With one final burst of effort that tore his shirt and caused blood to leak down his back, Scout freed himself from the narrowest part of the tunnel and immediately jumped into his panicked race towards the slope to the surface. Then, from behind him, Scout caught the sound of clawed hands and feet upon stone as the thing pursued him up the tunnel, finally freed. It's speed surpassing his own. Scout couldn't move fast enough as tears and snot ran down his face, his heart slamming into his chest. Nails scraped behind him, so very close behind him. He could feel its ghostly white eyes were on him. He could feel its desperate, searing madness burning into the back of him as it raced up the tunnel. He saw light as he neared the exit, cried out in agonising terror as he felt hot breath on the back of his neck. An arm snatched him, not from behind him, but from above.

"Scout!" It was the Sniper. He was ducking into the hole, latching onto Scout. But he couldn't get Scout out. The boy cried out and clung to snipers forearm for all that it was – literally what stood between life and death. The thing from the shadows had him, too, and tugged viciously at him from behind. Something popped and Scout and Sniper both yelled out as one final haul threw Scout out of the hole and onto Sniper, who had the wind knocked from him. The thing screamed liked an animal being skinned. Scout was writing about on top of Sniper like a salmon on a boat, trying frantically to get away from the hole in the earth. He kicked at the dirt, trying desperately to distance himself from it.

"Hey, easy, easy," Sniper tried to calm him, though he looked like hell himself. "Yer alright, it can't come up here – can't handle the natural light." Words were lost on Scout as he cried, shoving his sticky face into Snipers chest, utterly consumed with shock. Sniper patted his back, but his face was pale and strained as he eyed Scout's left arm – or where it should have been. In his tug-o-war with the beast, the fleshy rope that was Scout was tugged so hard that the thing from below had made away with the boys left arm, from the socket. Sniper knew he'd already lost too much blood as Scouts eyes rolled into the back of his head.

"Hey, Stretch…" his voice had become little more than a pathetic whisper. His closed eyes flickering, his slow breathing wet.

"Yeah?"

"Engie..."

"I know." Sniper smiled sadly, nodded. "He was the first. We're the only ones left, mate." He held Scout tightly, ruffled his sweaty hair. He wasn't the first friend to die in Snipers arms these past few days. The first had been Demoman. The last, Spy. Sniper had lost all hope the minute that thing had sank into claws into Scout.

"Everyone's … dead?" Sniper nodded, though Scout couldn't see. If Medic was dead, then there was no medi-gun. With wounds as severe as Scout's, he knew the boy was a goner. "At least I … I gotta see one of you … you ugly bastards one l-last time." But his voice had fallen so low that Sniper could no longer hear him. All he could hear was the hissing from the hole.

Long after Scout had went limp and cold, the hissing had continued persistently. Intently. Knowing that, sooner or later, night would come. As it had so many times before. Sniper got to his feet on long, shaky legs, pulling Scouts dog tags from his neck and making his way back to the mess hall. He added Scouts tags to the table with Demoman's scrumpy, Engie's goggles and the Spy's cigarette case – the little shrine he had built for his friends as they were picked off one by one, with each night that passed as darkness claimed the base. The lights above him continued to flicker. On and off, on and off.

Sniper walked over to the main light switch, rested his bloody hand over it. He had promised himself that, if he could at least save Scout, then he could save himself. He had failed. He was the last man alive. His entire team was gone. He flicked the light switch off and was encompassed by darkness. He saw the faces of his friends, smiling and then screaming. He picked up what was left of his smouldering cigarette and waited. Nails scraped along stone. Then, along tile. Then, there was no more.

.


End file.
